


For Whom The Bell Trolls

by 99_Girl



Category: The 100
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Strangers to Lovers, trigger warning: PTSD, youtube au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99_Girl/pseuds/99_Girl
Summary: Harper looks sad. “Clarkade is the channel belonging to my friends Clarke and Raven. Eight months ago they both became targets of some extreme cyberstalking and online attacks. They were terrorized. Things have finally calmed down, now, they can finally live their lives instead of always waiting for the next attack. Well, mostly...” she trails off and checks her phone. The way she does it, absent and weary, looks like a reflex. Glancing up again, she breathes out, “I’ll level with you. They’ll help you keep growing on YouTube, you’ll help them grow on Twitch but--” eyes closed, she pinches the bridge of her nose: an impulse he’s frustratingly familiar with nowadays, “look, they don’t need a knight in shining armor, or anything like that. They’ve handled all this better than most people would. But honestly? They need an ally. And a buffer. You’re a vocal feminist and social activist. You already have a reputation as speaking out against people being hateful for any reason, and that’s something they could use some help with. This collaboration will take some of the heat off of them.”





	For Whom The Bell Trolls

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having so much fun writing this! Thanks to Ravensluna on Tumblr for being my beta babe!
> 
> This story is based heavily on my experience as a YouTube Let's Player and Twitch Livestreamer, as well as my work in the voiceover community. 
> 
> *** I've included a glossary of terms below, but don't worry about reading them unless one of the terms is unfamiliar. I try to write it in context. If you have questions, definitely ask.*** 
> 
>  
> 
> I really wanted to take my favorite characters, from my favorite show, and really think about how they would handle the things I've experienced.
> 
> Livestream: Playing a game or showing video of yourself doing something live on a site like Twitch or Hitbox
> 
> Let's Play: Combining commentary with recordings of yourself playing videogames
> 
> YouTube Collaboration: When 2+ channels team up to do some sort of video(s)
> 
> Chat moderator: Someone whose job it is to watch what people say in livestream chats and keep the peace
> 
> YouTube Network a.k.a an MCN: Short for Multi-Channel Network. These companies will provide promotion, copyright claim assistance, royalty-free music, graphics, consultation on channel performance, opportunities for collaborations, paid reviews, etc. They take a percentage off of your earnings on top of what YouTube takes, and the percentage the networks charge is based on channel performance at the time of when you sign with them. Some require contracts, others don't. They can be useful because you're protected against a lot of things which you usually aren't, mainly copyright claims and people using programs to get you in trouble by "liking" a single video a few hundred times in the same day (Click-Bombing)
> 
> Livestream Subscriber: People who pay $4.99/month to a streamer, usually in exchange for special emojis or access to content, etc. But most of the time, subs really just want to support the streamer.
> 
> Distribution: This is a big one that I'll be mentioning a lot. YouTube distribution is *mostly* straightforward, but most people don't know how it works. It's generally regional, at first, and based on a bunch of constantly changing algorithms. Whenever you upload from a different location, YouTube promotes your content more aggressively to people in that area. So if you move around a lot or travel, odds are your distribution will be better, even when your channel is smaller. From there, it's all about the likes/dislikes, shares, comments, and favorites. The more you get, the more you're promoted. That's why all of us YTers are always asking viewers to do all that.

**For Whom The Bell Trolls**

 

It’s been a long time since Bellamy’s been concerned that he might actually break his computer mouse in anger, but there’s a decent possibility that by the end of this match he’ll have to eat the cost of a $90 fistful of plastic shards. Soundproof walls in his recording room will keep viewers from hearing the thing’s annoyingly aggressive _click, click, click_ but he’s having a harder time keeping them from hearing the irritation in his voice. He’s also pretty sure he’s scowling on facecam so hard that he’ll probably have a good laugh about it when he watches the footage, just like he always does when he gets too competitive or intense, but in this moment he’s absolutely not amused.

Earlier today he’d decided to livestream some Heroes of The Storm on his Twitch channel. The game is really popular, and good promotion because he recently replaced a voiceover artist as the voice of one of the characters. He hadn’t turned up in World of Warcraft yet, but he’s been contracted to do a few more voices on top of the new one, and he’s scheduled to leave for New York City in two weeks to record more audio. All in all, he’s excited and building a good working relationship with Blizzard, the games’ developer.

 _Good things_ , he thinks. _Happy thoughts. This is fun. It’s fun. It’s FUN_. In his periphery he can see Miller, whose current expression usually precedes one of Bellamy’s patented rants. It’s always been difficult to tell whether or not his best friend, chat moderator, and, if he’s being honest, wrangler, thinks of his near-daily diatribes, but the viewers usually enjoy them, so that’s ultimately what they have to account for.

 _Don’t do it. Don’t you dare blow up, asshole_. He’s not sure when he started calling himself ‘asshole’, but it usually keeps him grounded a bit. Usually.

Right now, though? He’s really fucking pissed.

The chat window at the bottom of his screen displays a new message.

_**Sup3rBAMF:** u stpd fcking cuntmonkys i tld u 2 lane! the fcks wrng w/u?_

Bellamy breathes deeply, attempting to ignore the pain snuggling into the base of his skull. Everything seems louder and brighter. He needs to keep his cool because this is more than just a normal stream. His new employers could be watching and he needs to edit what he might yell at this fuckface.

Hell, _she_ could be watching. He's been dating Delia for a while, and he just revealed what he does for a living yesterday and debuting his content to her when today's adaptation is pretty much a shitshow wouldn't go over well.

In the lower right corner of his screen, the Twitch chat window spools upwards in a tense thread of comments; most people are saying Bellamy should tell this dude off, but there are a few calling him a baby for getting annoyed. Miller’s mod name, _GiveMeAReason_ , appears in the chat as bold, bright text with a sword icon next to it. He’s promising a permanent ban to anyone he deems an asshole. It’s extreme, but a while ago the two of them made the decision that they won't be disrespected in the chat ever again, so they instituted a zero-tolerance policy for douchebaggery. Lots of people don’t like it, but Bellamy needs to mitigate some stress from his demanding streaming schedule. Burning out isn't uncommon.

Bellamy counts to ten before responding.

 **Hels_Bell:** _Look, that’s clearly not working, so we need to either group up and hit them hard down the center, or lure them from the lanes to pick off their healers. We’ve got the buff from the shrines._

 **Sparklynn:** _HB is right, we shld probly group up & try to overwhelm them_

 **Sup3rBAMF:** _shut tf up, stpd bitch. u can met ur tard bf in the mddle lane n sck his dick fr all i care. fat slut._

 **TriggerTheHorse:** _K, sorry HB, Rotten, Spark, I’m gonna drop group. Not gonna heal this ignorant fuck anymore_

 **Rottencandy:** _its cool tth. cant blame you_

 **Sup3rBAMF:** _ur all a bunch of pussies._

 **Sparklynn:** _Thx for the game, guys. Sorry, think I’m done for the night_.

 **Hels_Bell:** _Thanks for the great DPS, Spark. Sorry about this jackass. You’re a fucking asshole, SB._

 **Rottencandy:** _night, spark. pm me if you ever want to group up. you were really awesome._

 **TriggerTheHorse:** _Good game, all. Same, Spark. Let me know if you ever want to group for a match_

 **Sparklynn:** _Thx, guys. Really appreciate it._

 **Sup3rBAMF:** _wtf, shes fcking awfl. fat whore. DIAF_

 **Hels_Bell:** _That’s my cue. Fuck you, SB. You’re an ignorant piece of shit._

 **TriggerTheHorse:** _Seconded. Fuck you, SB_

 **Rottencandy:** _thirded. fuck you SB._

 **Sup3rBAMF:** _whatevs. go jrk off 2 ur slut._

Bellamy backs up to the character select screen and grits his teeth before plastering on the most convincing smile he can manage.

“Folks, sorry about that.” Chuckling weakly, he rubs the back of his neck. “I think I’m gonna sign off for the night.”

Miller slides him a piece of paper. Bellamy reads, “I see I’ve gotten 30 new subscribers tonight, which is really awesome. Thanks very much.” He hovers his cursor over the button to end the livestream, but Miller taps on the desk and points to a Post-It stuck to the side of his monitor.

“Oh!” Bellamy’s smile is genuine this time. “I have an announcement. I’m gonna be a guest on our favorite roleplaying stream tomorrow night, so follow the links to their Twitter and Twitch channel. The show starts at 10 PM Eastern Standard Time and you should definitely watch, even if only to see them be amazing and me be an idiot.”

The chat blows up with people showing their excitement for his guest appearance. He's really looking forward to it. It's something different, something to make him feel anything other than exhausted by his own voice. Something to make him feel useful.

“And, remember that all the characters I used tonight are free-to-play this week, so if you haven’t tried them you should give them a shot. Thanks, everyone. I’ve been Hel’s Bell and you’ve been great.”

He cuts off the stream, pushes away the microphone hanging inches from his face, turns off his monitor. There’s a dull buzzing sensation building in his ears and at the back of his eyes; his pulse stomps in time with his advancing fury. A soft knock sounds against the door; Miller’s swivel chair creaks as he stands and walks over to let in Monty.

“Hey, guys, it looks like the software stopped picking up the chat window at the end, but I took notes and grabbed screenshots, so we have a good cross-section of what people were saying. I think we should write up a Tumblr post to explain our banning policies...” Monty trails off, then Bellamy hears footsteps coming towards him. A hand grips his shoulder reassuringly. “Bellamy, you did well keeping your cool. That’s a good thing.”

Miller shuts the door. “Three, two, one...”

Bellamy leaps up, startling Monty who trips backwards. Miller rushes forward and manages to catch him in time.

Bellamy holds out a hand in apology, “Sorry, man,” then bellows: “What the ever-living-hell is wrong with people?”

Miller shakes his head. “I really don’t know. You had two good matches, then got stuck with that ass. Ended up having to ban some people for being whiny, but also some dicks who showed up to hate-watch and run their mouths.”

Scoffing, Monty crosses to the desk to organize the papers he’s carrying; presumably the notes he took. Flipping through them, he says, “I’ll never understand why people show up to watch something they hate.”

Bellamy starts pacing around the room, gesturing wildly at whatever’s in front of him. “Damned if I know! I just can’t with these people.” He’s tired and his head’s killing him.

Miller steps in his path. “Chill. Just breathe.”

“You’re right. I’ll calm down.”

Smirking, Miller claps him on the bicep and squeezes. “Damned straight. I’m always right.”

Monty laughs quietly.

Bellamy heads to the wall and flips the switch to turn off the light on the outside wall. It lets people know when he’s streaming or recording to avoid interruptions. Scratching his chin, he turns to look at his best friend, earnest. “Okay, I’m calm. What were the ones you had to ban saying?”

Groaning, Miller trudges over to sit on the desk next to where Monty’s sorting his notes. “Do you really want to know? With your mood and all?”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“Fine, uh--” Monty passes a printed screenshot to Miller, who looks it over. “Well, as per uge, there were the pee-pants who just wanted to complain about your playstyle and shit. They all got a couple warnings about being constructive with their criticism. Told them that if they had nothing to add to the conversation and kept being assholes, I’d ban them.”

Bellamy nods. Shifting his weight to the opposite leg and hitching his palms firmly to his hips, he grumbles, “What about the other ones?”

“Just people who agreed with Sup3rBAMF and said awful shit about Sparklynn.”

“I’d hoped we’d driven those people away.” Bellamy’s headache is getting stronger.

Monty taps the edge of his papers against the desk before sliding them in the inbox they keep for the guy who edits Bellamy’s videos. He rotates and jumps up to sit on the desk. “You had to know they’d be back. They’re like roaches: nothing short of a nuclear apocalypse will take them out.”

Bellamy looks at his trusted moderator. “And you banned them?”

Miller smiles. “Yup.”

“Almost instantly,” Monty adds. “Great work on that.”

Miller flushes. “Yeah, but you managed to screenshot all of it. Impressive.”

Bellamy watches as his two friends gaze at each other. He gives them about thirty seconds before clearing his throat. He hates when they forget he’s in the room during important shit like this. “Okay, Monty, how did the stream look otherwise?”

“Awesome, actually!” He pulls a little notepad from his pocket, deftly flips to a page near the middle. “The picture was crystal clear, and no one complained about lag, except for the people who have crappy internet themselves.”

Bellamy chuckles. “It’d better be an improvement. Cost a frigging fortune to upgrade to the ultra-high-speed package.”

Clapping his hands together, Miller says, “But, hey, they threw in Cinemax for free, so that’s something.”

“Yep, free softcore porn is all I ever dreamed of.”

Monty scratches his chin, “You know, it’s funny they would give you a channel that’s mostly porn along with the top internet package. Don’t they know you can get better stuff for free online?”

All three of them _tisk_ at the same time.

The recording room door flies open, immediately replaced by Cher standing in the frame. Well, his sister dressed in Cher _Turn Back Time_ cosplay. It’s remarkably good. Octavia has her own YouTube channel where she reviews makeup, clothes, tech, and books; now she’s trying to break into the cosplay market.

“That looks really good, O.” He smiles at her, then notices the withering glare she’s fixed on him. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Did you take my webcam?”

“Uh-- yeah.” He tries really hard not to laugh when she shifts to her other leg and puts her hands on her hips. _God, we’re so alike_.

“Okay, well, I just lost three hours worth of footage for this costume collaboration I’ve been invited to. Your stupid webcam’s light was on, so I thought it was recording, but it wasn’t and the video is due in two days, plus I have Calculus homework. Now I need to wash off this makeup and start all over, then edit the video so it can process while I’m doing my assignment, then make a thumbnail in a different style than I usually make, and-” she sighs, “Look, I wouldn’t be mad, but this is something I agreed to do with other peoples’ channels, so it’s really shitty if I leave them high and dry.”

Behind him he hears Miller whoop. “High and dry! _That’s_ what I was going to say about that French-cut onesie you’re wearing. How much do you pay your waxer again?”

“Screw you.” Octavia turns to leave, smiling at Monty when he prods Miller's shoulder on her behalf.

“O, wait-” Bellamy rushes forward to catch her elbow. She stops and whirls to face him, “I’m really sorry. Honestly. I meant to tell you, and I didn’t think you’d be recording tonight. I’m just- I- it’s-” he stammers, “it’s been a really long couple days.”

Her eyes soften, she cocks her head to the side. “Bell, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just- I tell you what,” he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. Pulling out one of his credit cards, he offers it to her. “Take this and order the new webcam you wanted. The 1080p one with the remote. And I’ll get Lincoln to edit and upload your video tomorrow while you’re in class.”

She shakes her head. “Bell, that’s too much. Both are. I can get a cheaper webcam with my savings, and I’ll do the edit. You need Lincoln to take care of your stuff for the week.”

Bellamy quickly tosses his wallet to Monty and pulls his sister into a hug. “O, it’s fine. I only have streams this week, and they can be uploaded to YouTube as-is. No edits necessary.” Stepping back, he rubs her shoulders. “You’re freezing, by the way.”

She laughs. “Okay, but the camera is too much.

Holding out his credit card again, he tilts his head and gives her what she calls his “stern puppy stare”. “It’s fine. I got thirty subscribers tonight. That’s $130 per month, before taxes. More than your webcam.”

Octavia wrinkles her nose, closes her eyes tightly. “I’m paying you back.”

He fluffs the curly wig she’s wearing. “I know. But at some point I hope you can come to terms with the fact that we’re not poor anymore. Pay me back, that’s okay, and I love your dedication and independence, but you don’t need to worry as much as I know you still do.” She averts her eyes. “O. Look at me.” When she does she’s starting to cry. “We’re good, little sis. Honestly. Your college is paid for, this house is paid for, our cars are paid for. We have clothes, food, literally everything we want, and I know you’re scared that it’ll all go away if I can’t stream or record anymore, but if you want I’ll have you come talk to our accountant with me.” With his thumbs, he wipes away any tears tracking over her cheeks. “We’re good.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” she hugs him, “okay.”

He takes her hand, palm up, gives her the credit card, and closes her fingers over the edge. “Look, if it makes you feel better, you’re helping me out.” He pulls out his phone and types out a text to her. “Those are all things I need, but I’m not going to have a chance to go to the store to get them. Order them along with your webcam. What about primer and micellar makeup remover? You still got enough of them?”

Octavia chuckles. “No, I’m out.”

“Well, okay then,” he waves her down the hallway, “grab those too, and move it along. There’s shit we need and you’re saving me a grumpy sprint through Target and Ulta. ”

When she’s halfway into the next room, he calls out, “I forgot that I want more of that organic rose water! You were right about the razor burn!” She gives him a thumbs up before disappearing into the next room.

“Plus, it makes your face smell pretty,” says Miller.

“You’ve found my ulterior motive. Nice sleuthing.” Bellamy points a finger at him. “By the way, asshat, don’t ever mention my sister’s waxing of anything ever again.”

“I jabbed him for that,” Monty pipes cheerily. “Here’s your wallet back.”

Bellamy takes it and leans against the desk on Monty’s other side, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Um, Bellamy?” Monty ventures cautiously.

“Yeah, Monty?”

“I need to talk to you and Miller about something.”

Bellamy looks at his watch. “Can it wait until later? I have something I have to do tonight and I’m fucking stressed.”

“Oh yeah, that unboxing for the headphones someone wants you to review? Should I get the camera and lightbox set up? It’s really not a big deal, you’re awesome at reviews.” Bellamy is always knocked on his ass by how generous and hardworking Monty is. His whole team is amazing and he really couldn’t keep his YouTube and Twitch channels going without them.

“No, you and Miller are done for the night. Go get Bryan. Do something fun.” He hears Miller choke. “We can talk about whatever you need tomorrow morning, Monty.”

After a moment Miller recovers enough to ask, “Why aren’t you doing the unboxing and review tonight? You wanted to promote them during your next stream.”

“Later, there’s something I have to do. I’m meeting Delia at the diner in a few hours.” He reaches behind him to feel around for the stack of screenshots from the stream chat earlier. Finding them, he moves to sit at his own desk to try to get a sense of what happened.

The guys exchange dark looks while Bellamy pores over the screenshots. He points at one, mumbles, “Look at that. I need to adjust my brightness settings. Surprised anyone could see.”

Miller sighs and uses his foot to spin Bellamy’s swivel chair. “Hey, I thought you liked her. What’s wrong?”

Bellamy doesn’t look up. “I do, that’s part of the problem,” before either of his friends can comment, he points absently at the door. “Now get out of here. I’m tired of your gorgeous faces looking at me like I’m the Little Match Girl. Go have fun, act your ages and make some stupid choices. I’ll bail you out of it comes to that.” He finally glances up, “On your way out tell O to order me more of my pomade.”

Monty takes Miller by the sleeve of his jacket and pulls him towards the door. “Have a good night, Bellamy. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Sighing, Miller calls over his shoulder, “Don’t read any more of those cruddy comments, dumbass!”

“Yeah, okay,” Bellamy whispers. It’s lost under the swish of the pages he’s flipping through.

 

***

 

Moving day. Third in six months. Clarke sets down a heavy box of journals and planners. “LP Notes” is scrawled on the side in Raven’s wispy lettering. Spinning in a slow circle, she scrutinizes their new apartment, making mental notes of what they’ll need to do.

The ceiling and walls are stained in mottled yellow, so she knows this place used to belong to a smoker. They’ll probably want to paint as soon as possible, now that the cool early October winds are sweeping through, that way they can have the windows open while the walls dry.

Unfortunately they didn’t have much time, so they’re renting this place sight-unseen.

Hardwood floors. That’s good for Raven’s allergies. A shitty radiator near the front window. She’s hopes it works, but knowing her luck it doesn’t.

_Okay..._

_1) Get paint and primer_  
_2) Get some groceries_  
_3) Call mom and dad_  
_4) Have Raven look at the radiator_

She stops for a second to make sure she’s seeing what she thinks she is. Well, not seeing what she should be seeing. Through the kitchen archway she notices that the refrigerator they’d been promised is missing.

_Crap._

_5) Call landlord about fridge_

The guy they’re renting from is a real jackass, but the rent is low and the apartment is in a decent location for their needs, plus it’s a first-floor with three large bedrooms. Raven insists that she can handle a walk-up, but she was in agony from the stairs at their last place, and Clarke wasn’t a fan either.

A tribe of kids streaks by the front window, squealing. Their cries ricochet off everything in the empty apartment. Seconds later, Clarke hears the jaunty bells of an ice cream truck. It's a weirdly sinister-sounding tune. “Well, at least that particular issue will be resolved now that it’s getting so freaking cold outside.”

The acoustics aren’t great, admittedly, but there’s no telling how they’ll be once all of the furniture is set up. Raven is a boss when it comes to impromptu sound design, even if it means their sofa can't face _exactly_ at the TV, and fortunately they’ve got enough help to move the bigger pieces around until she’s completely satisfied. If anyone can make this work, it’s Raven.

Clarke ventures down the back hall, tapping each door as she passes. The fourth down needs a forceful tug to get it open, but that’s not too hard to fix. Inside is a long, wide closet featuring a single, yellowing bulb and a pile of rusted metal hangers, most of which have tangled together into some sort of Hanger King.

Someone’s chin props onto her shoulder. “Well, that’s some nightmare fuel.”

Clarke spazzes, though only slightly, then calms down when Raven wraps her middle in a reassuring hug. “I’m sorry, C, I thought you heard me coming. The reverb off these walls is ridiculous.”

“No, it’s okay. I startle easily these days.” She turns to hug Raven back. “You’re just lucky I didn’t grab a hanger and _Mommy Dearest_ your adorable ass.”

Letting go of Clarke in order to get a better look into the closet, Raven makes a sour face and whistles. “Yeah, I’m not sure you’d have to have done it yourself. Pretty sure that thing is possessed by the ghost of Joan Crawford.” She sticks out her tongue and blows a raspberry at the heap of twisted metal.

Clarke snorts and hugs Raven from behind. “Think it’ll escape its prison and kill us in our sleep?”

Humming, Raven strokes her fingertips through the ends of Clarke’s hair, which is now draped over her own shoulder. “Only one way to find out, C.”

“Ugh. Shush, you.”

“No, C, this is serious.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Let’s sprinkle flour in front of it.”

“Oh my god, Rave, that was one time! I’d just watched Paranormal Activity and had a nightmare. When will you let that go?” Clarke stalks back into the living room.

Raven follows. “But Clarke, there’s already a flaw in our plan! What if its wiry, deadly limbs are prehensile and it can open doors and swing from the lighting fixtures?”

“I hate you.”

“You could never hate me,” Raven’s face brightens with an affectionate grin.

“That may be the case, but I’m going to get you back for teasing me. Just you wait.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Raven leans up against the wall to adjust her brace.

Clarke sideeyes her best friend, knowing that Raven is weird about anyone “fussing” over her, especially when it comes to her leg. As chill as she can, Clarke asks: “Your leg bothering you?”

“No.”

“Okay, then. What will we have to do to turn that closet into a recording space?”

Perking up, Raven grabs a pencil from her pocket and starts sketching the layout on the dingy plaster.

“Raven-”

Engrossed in planning, Raven sing-songs a placation without even looking over her shoulder. “Relax, C. We’re painting over it soon, anyway. At least I hope.”

Crossing her arms, “Yes, Rave. We’re painting.”

“Oh, good! Maybe we can use some paint instead of flour to track your closet monster?”

“What’s this about a closet monster?” Roan wrestles a stack of two large boxes through the door. Clarke sees her moment to strike. On an average day, Raven gets flustered when she's feeling embarrassed and anywhere in the his vicinity, but to make it worse she's helplessly distracted by Roan’s surfing tank, which has arm holes that dip down almost the entire length of his upper body, giving a clear view of his jacked torso. Raven’s been entranced for hours and Clarke can tell it annoys the shit out of her.

Clarke flashes a Cheshire grin at Raven, then helps Roan with the boxes. “We’re talking about unreasonable fears. Did you know that Raven is afraid of monsters hidden in gamecode?” When he pulls up the edge of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, Raven takes advantage of his eyes being covered to pantomime the throttling Clarke has coming.

Inspecting the windows, “What does that mean?” he asks over his shoulder.

Raven turns beet red. Pointing to the boxes and desperate to move onto a new subject, “Hey, Sideboob! Why are you carrying them two at a time? The components for the new PC I’m building are in there.” She rushes over to the box and cuts it open with her pocket blade. Grumbling, “You’re lucky they’re fine.”

“Terribly sorry, good lady,” he trills then pokes at the window locks, tutting. “These need to be replaced.” He waves Clarke over. “Where are the crossbars?”

 _Shit_. "The guy said there'd be some.” Clarke blanches and feels faint. Thinly, “What are we supposed to do? Does that mean anyone can just climb in?” Panic clutches at her throat, and the tightening in her chest makes her cough and wheeze. In a span of what couldn’t be more than a couple seconds, she feels two sets of hands lead her to sit on an unopened box. Raven rubs her back in soothing circles, the way Clarke once told her her grandmother used to do. Roan disappears out the door, only to hurry back with the box they’d packed with their drinking glasses.

He returns from the kitchen with a cup of water and hands it off to Raven. He usually stays quiet when Clarke has an anxiety attack, assuming it’s better to let Raven’s softer tones comfort her friend.

Handing over the glass, “Here, C, have some water.” Raven moves behind Clarke and begins to braid her hair. Clarke loves having her hair combed, braided, or just played with in general. “C, do you know why I love you more than anyone in the entire universe?”

Swallowing a swig of water, Clarke murmurs what sounds like a ‘no’. Through her lashes, she’s watching Roan watch Raven.

Raven’s fingers part and sweep Clarke’s hair into the beginnings of a complicated braid. It’s calming for both of them.

“I love you more than anything in the entire universe because you are love. You care-- about everyone, everything. You’re incapable of apathy and you want to make lives better, no matter what the cost to you. And the costs have been shitty, I won’t lie, but you still love and still try. You’re my best friend and I’ll protect you. Where you go, I go.”

Roan stands and smiles at Clarke. “Same here.”

Raven snickers. “That’s true. He’s pretty okay to have around. Although I’m not sure it means as much since we’re paying him.”

He flips her off, then squats down so he can look Clarke in the eyes. “Starry, it’s going to be fine,” she can feel Raven’s hands pause. He rarely uses the petname he gave her shortly after they hired him as their bodyguard. Raven is always bothered when he does, though Clarke thinks he hasn't noticed. “Look, I have a friend who works for an alarm company, and he can get us a steep discount on a system which will monitor the windows, too. We’ll get a quote and you can decide from there.”

She leans back into Raven’s hands, smiling when a kiss is planted firmly on top of her head. The braiding recommences.

Roan begins to wander through the apartment again, locating Clarke’s empty room. “Starry,” his deep voice fills the empty space around them, “when is he last time you slept?”

She shrugs. Raven tugs her braid gently and calls out to Roan, “That’s a negative on the sleeping, Man-Bun McMuscles. Maybe we should start unloading Clarke’s bed and stuff first?”

On his way to the door, he pauses at the kitchen entryway. “Where is the Ice Chest?”

Both women break out in peals of laughter. Face impassive, he strides deliberately out the door.

Raven bends to whisper in Clarke’s ear. “Are you sure he’s not too elderly for this job? The hell calls it an ‘Ice Chest’ anymore? He costs too much to be that much of a doofus.”

Finally feeling closer to herself, Clarke pivots and pats Raven’s arm. “Rave, I would pay any amount to savor your reaction every time you see him shirtless.”

That remark earns her a noogie.

 

***

 

He always finds confrontation a little easier when he’s on his home turf. Anywhere he feels like he fits generally helps. Looking around his favorite diner, Kate’s, where they know his favorite order and the the eponymous Kate still calls him ‘GS’-- short for Grand Slam-- from the time Bellamy carried his little league team to victory. She even attended his games, cheering louder than anyone else and sweeping him into a bear hug after each one.

Deep down, a part of him always knew, from the first day he’d walked into this little pocket restaurant to find a 6’1” redhead in her forties who eagerly high-fived him as a welcome, that he could come to love this place like a home. But it wasn’t until his disastrous ninth birthday when the cool glow of 4 AM halogens sifted through frosted panes at the front of her diner, when she heard his cries and sprinted down the stairs from her apartment one floor up and practically tore the fucking door from its hinges so she could gather up he and his screaming three-year-old sister, both soaked to the bone and shivering from the sleet and gales, that he knew he had come to love her as a mother.

From then on, whenever things got sketchy at home he’d bring his sister here, doing his best not to let on how bad things really were. Child Protective Services had checked into their family multiple times, but he couldn’t stand the possibility of being separated from Octavia. At fourteen, Kate hired him as a busboy, and when he was twenty-two she held his hand at his mother’s funeral. She gave him a loan to cover the costs of the equipment he needed to get his start on YouTube and Twitch, then promoted his videos and streams to everyone who came into her restaurant.

He wouldn’t have anything without her generosity, and he wants to tell her that everyday but only gets to see her once a week during visiting hours at her retirement community. But she shows up in the chat to crack dick jokes during streams, comments on his videos to tell him how watching his content gets her through the harder days, Tweets at him that he needs to comb his hair and to ask if he’s taking a multivitamin.

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice someone approach his booth and slide in on the opposite side.

In Delia’s kind voice, light and clear, “Hi, Bellamy.”

He jolts. “Jesus, you scared me.” He runs his hand along the back of his neck, trying to loosen the muscles.

“Neck still hurting you, huh?” She reaches out and grabs his hand. “Kate’s fine, Bellamy,” she squeezes his fingers gently, “I just got off a shift and her dialysis went well. Her bloodwork and urinalysis are looking better, too.”

Looking up, he sees that she’s still in her scrubs. Her shirt is covered in puppies and he kind of loves it. Smiling, “Thanks. I know you’re not supposed to tell me those things. Who knew there’d be so many benefits to dating a nurse, other than fulfilling my sex fantasies?”

A small laugh and she’s released his hand. Sitting back she waves at the waiter, then clucks her tongue. “So, um, what was so important that we needed to get dinner tonight instead of Sunday?”

The waiter stops by to drop off their preferred drinks. Bellamy forces a smile. “Best service in the whole city, am I right?”

“Bellamy-”

“Delia, I-” He takes a sip of beer and swishes it in his mouth. The words are right on his tongue, but he’s so stressed and down that he’s worried this is just going to end up screwing everything.

“What, Bellamy? Seriously.”

Deep breath and, “I know that you’re ashamed of me, but I really like you and I want you to know that even though it seems like I should be embarrassed, or like I’m not doing anything that actually helps people, what I do actually makes a lot of people happy, and I want to share that part of it with you. So you can see that. Because I really like you.” He’s winded, but glad he at least got it all out without floundering too much.

Delia rests her elbows on the table and leans closer. “What the frig are you talking about?”

“So you aren’t ashamed of me?”

“What? Why would I be ashamed of you?”

“And you’re not going to dump me?”

“Seriously, what the hell is going through your head, Blake?”

“Well,” he drums his fingers on the table, “I got the impression that you had a problem with my job and that you were planning to break up with me.”

She stands up and moves to his side of the both. “Scootch over, would you?”

Once she’s settled she pokes him in the side with her index finger. “Where would you get that idea? I’m genuinely confused.” She takes his arm and drapes it over her shoulders. “I honestly don’t understand what’s happening right now.”

Feeling relief soften the tension in his whole body, he pulls her closer. “When I told you that I’m a professional gamer, your reaction made me think that you were bothered by it. Some people are. And I know that you’ve mentioned wanting someone with job security and who does something worthwhile, and I guess I got it in my head that you think I’m lazy or a freeloader or something.” He's so tired of losing people.

“Wow, mister, you go from zero to apocalyptic in no time.”

“Yeah, it’s obnoxious, but without that what else would balance out my stunning beauty?”

“Probably your faun hooves.”

“Oh please, my toenails aren’t that bad.”

“Tell that to my calves, Mr. Tumnus.”

He grabs her beer and sets it where she can reach. “Okay, then what was with the face you made when I tried to explain it?”

Sitting up, she plucks the menu from the centerpiece and begins to look it over. “Honestly? Your job doesn’t bother me, it’s just that you waited until we were dating for two months before you told me, so I initially assumed that it was something you yourself are ashamed of, and since you’re one of the most self-censuring people I know, it made me worry.”

“Why aren’t you worried now?”

She points at a line in the menu, “Do you think they’ll put hot ham on a meatball sub?”

“You mean instead of meatballs?”

“No, underneath the meatballs.”

“Probably, but eww.” He nudges her with his shoulder. “You didn’t answer me.”

“Oh, whoops. Sorry.” Sweetly, she kisses his cheek. “But you know why.”

 _She talked to Kate_.

 

***

 

They’d discovered that the radiators in their apartment definitely work. Unfortunately the pernicious things seem to be on an automatic timer and won’t stop blaring heat. Now it’s 2:45 am and incredibly uncomfortable and dry in his room, so Roan stumbles out of bed to get some water from the kitchen. At least they have a sink. He’s pretty sure he’ll never live down the “Ice Chest” thing, but doesn’t mind as long as it makes the girls laugh.

Their corkboard, more board than cork these days, hangs just outside of the kitchen and has a single note tacked on with a Rainbow Dash pushpin.

_Call with Harper, 5pm on Thursday_

He recognizes Raven’s handwriting, mostly because it’s incredibly distinctive, but at least a small part of why is that he’s memorized everything about the birthday card she made him a couple months back. It was a tiny plaque of sorts, made from a sheet extremely thin hammered silver. She’d engraved it with a simple “Happy Birthday”, but there were filigreed cutouts of maple leaves and aster flowers. It’s the most beautiful thing he owna, but he doesn’t want it to get bent or scratched, so he keeps it in his lockbox wrapped in a scarf.

Filling a cup with lukewarm water from the tap, he tries not to gulp it down too quickly. The last thing he wants is a stomach ache. Not with so much to get done later today.

A rustle in the livingroom catches his attention. Silently, he places his cup on the counter, then presses against the wall adjacent to the archway. The front door is sealed, still chained and bolted from the inside. Peeking out to get a better view, he breathes out in relief when he sees it’s just Clarke sitting on the sofa.

“Hey,” he whispers. The last thing he wants to do is put her more on edge by speaking too loudly from the darkened hall.

“Hey,” she murmurs. She’s sitting at one end of the couch, facing sideways, knees pulled to her chest. Her head oscillates rhythmically: _she’s trying to watch all of the windows at once_.

 _Yeah,_ he thinks, _we’re replacing those locks today, no matter what_.

Navigating smoothly around a stack of boxes and a clothes hamper, he plops down next to her feet. “Clarke.”

Her nails are bitten to raw-rimmed stubs and her fingertips are stripped and bloody in certain spots where she’s chewed the outer layers of skin off. Usually he or Raven make sure she covers the open sores with a bandage, but they can’t force her. He hooks two fingers around her wrist, pulls her hand close to look at it. “This is a disgusting habit.” He begins to massage her palm at the heel and thumb-base. “If you don’t knock it off, I’m going to sneak bitter apple onto your fingers while you sleep.”

Darkly, she mumbles, “I’d have to sleep so joke’s on you.” In the moonlight she looks pale and exhausted, but the moon drains the color from everything. The exhaustion? That he’s certain of.

He keeps hold of her hand, then tugs her arm carefully so she’ll move closer. She lets him guide her close enough that he can scoop her onto his lap. Slow and metered, he begins to rock. It’s not every night that she needs someone to hold her so she’ll feel safe, but it’s been happening more often. This is where Roan excels. Protecting people is just part of who he is.

His chin rests on her head and he begins singing her favorite song as softly as he can.

 _Starry, starry night_  
_Paint your palette blue and gray_  
_Look out on a Summer’s day_  
_with eyes that know the darkness in my soul.._.

 

***

 

  
_Bang, bang, bang, bang_

Bellamy growls and scrambles out of bed to see who’s at the door before it wakes Delia. He grips the doorknob and tugs up slightly before turning it. He loves this house, but it’s older and has its quirks. In the hall he finds Miller, all crossed arms and agitation.

Bellamy steps into the hall and closes the door behind himself. “What is it? Delia has to work a double tonight so nice work almost waking her up, asshole.”

Pointing to Bellamy’s bare chest and boxer briefs, “Good morning, Bellamy. Have you been working out? Hadn’t noticed until now.”

“Shut up.”

“Aww, I love you too.”

“Miller, you’ve got about three seconds to tell me what’s going on.”

Taking him by the elbow, Miller leads him further from the door so they can speak at a normal volume. “Know that thing Monty wanted to talk to you about?”

Shrugging, “Yeah. What is it?”

“It’s a meeting. And it’s now.” Miller points at the bedroom door. “Go get dressed. You don’t need to show off in mixed company.”

Bellamy rubs some sleep out of his eyes. “Mixed company?”

Miller sighs, “Fuck, you’re slow today. Just get dressed and meet us in the kitchen. There’s someone from the network wants to talk to you.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll be right down.”

 

 

Five minutes later, Bellamy is clothed as fashionably as he can achieve on three hours' sleep. When Monty spots him shambling through the door, he’s points to a cup of hot coffee sitting on the center island. It takes a moment, but they get set up in front of Monty’s laptop. “Should be any minute now.”

Bellamy manages a half-hearted grunt. “You’re lucky you make good coffee.”

A call comes through Skype and Monty answers. A young woman appears on the screen. “Hey, Monty! Can you see me okay?”

“Totally. How’re you, Harper? You look, uh,” he’s blushing, “you look really nice today.”

She’s clearly flustered by his compliment. “Thanks. You- ah- you look really nice, too.”

Miller clears his throat dramatically. Monty tries to disguise his embarrassment by nudging the laptop as if it’s not already capturing all three of them in the webcam.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “So- Harper, was it?”

“Yep, hi.” He’s trying really hard to be annoyed, but she has a friendly and disarming smile. “I’m guessing you want to get down to business?”

Both he and Miller nod. “I would appreciate that. I’ve got a big day ahead of me. What’s your role at Polaris, by the way?”

Bellamy has had a contract for his YouTube channel through a big network called Polaris, which handles all of his ad revenues, promotion, and copyright stuff. Truth be told, this call doesn’t sit well with him already. With his YouTube views dropping, and his contract due to be re-upped or maybe even renegotiated, he’s scared about what someone from the network might want from him.

Harper’s mouth tugs up and to the side, “Well, I’m not exactly from the network. But you could say that I’m network-adjacent.”

Somehow, Miller’s scowl is even fiercer than Bellamy’s. Seeing that they’re both pissed, Monty speaks up, “Whoa, guys. Just chill. Harper is affiliated with the network, I promise, just indirectly.”

This is starting to annoy the shit out of Bellamy. “Really? Because that’s not what I just heard.”

Harper’s tone is confident and clear. “Hey, look. I’m employed by a fellow YouTuber, and she’s with Polaris.” Pulling out a notebook, she traces along the page looking for something specific. “Okay, so it looks here like your views, likes, and comments are down. Umm,” she squints at the page, “sorry, guys, I wrote this in a hurry.” After a beat, “Alright, it looks like your YouTube is suffering a little bit. You’ve lost about 10,000 subscribers in the past couple of months. Why do you think that is?” Despite her tee shirt being emblazoned with a pole dancer dressed as an airplane pilot and the words “Mile High”, she carries herself much more professionally than he’s ever done.

“Ah, well,” he’s not sure what to say, because he’s been trying to solve this puzzle on his own for a while, “we’ve kind of figured it might be because I only upload videos from my livestreams anymore.”

She takes a pen and scribbles something in the notebook. Nodding, “Yeah, that’s probably part of it. The people who want to watch your livestreams will either watch live, or watch the episode where it’s saved on your Twitch page. I’m thinking that you need some pre-recorded videos where you, or you and other people, are interacting with the games on a more intimate level.”

“You a consultant or something?” He’s confused, but he’s not going to turn down good advice if it’s from someone who knows their shit.

At this point, Harper isn’t even looking at them, but seems to be scrolling her mouse down whatever she’s looking at on her end. Skype chimes a notification that they’ve received a message. “Okay, guys, there are a few links. They explain how distribution works, and also some polls and consumer data on what people are looking for in the game videos they want to watch. We need to come up with a list of games you'd be willing to play all the way through.”

“Jesus, is this real?” _It’s too early for this_.

“Of course it’s real. Monty can tell you, I don’t like wasting my time. I want to help, and I know how. And what’s great is that at the same time you can help a couple other people.”

“Who would I be helping?” Wariness gnaws at his gut. Harper also looks a little uncomfortable, which he thinks might be a cruddy sign.

“Have you ever heard of _Clarkade_?” Miller glares at Monty, which is even more confusing given that Bellamy's certain he’s heard that name before, but he’s not sure where or why Miller looks so pissed.

“Why would you want to drag him into that shit?” Miller’s voice percusses off the glass cabinets and marble counters.

“Somebody tell me what we’re talking about. Who’s _Clarkade_?” He pulls his stool closer and blocks the camera’s view of the other guys. “I won’t get mad, I just want to know.”

She looks sad. “ _Clarkade_ is the channel belonging to my friends Clarke and Raven.” When he doesn’t say anything, she continues, “Eight months ago they both became targets of some extreme cyberstalking and online attacks. They were terrorized. Things have finally calmed down, now, they can finally live their lives instead of always waiting for the next attack. Well, mostly...” she trails off and checks her phone. The way she does it, absent and weary, looks like a reflex. Glancing up again, she breathes out, “I’ll level with you. They’ll help you keep growing on YouTube, you’ll help them grow on Twitch but--” eyes closed, she pinches the bridge of her nose: an impulse he’s frustratingly familiar with nowadays, “look, they don’t need a knight in shining armor, or anything like that. They’ve handled all this better than most people would. But honestly? They need an ally. And a buffer. You’re a vocal feminist and social activist. You already have a reputation as speaking out against people being hateful for any reason, and that’s something they could use some help with. This collaboration will take some of the heat off of them.”

Heavy footfalls _thud_ through the kitchen and into the hall. A door slams. Monty pulls his seat closer and smiles at Harper.  _What crawled up Miller's ass?_ Bellamy wonders.

“This is confusing.” Bellamy bites the side of his tongue, thinking hard. He can’t remember anything about it, just the name of the channel. “Okay. What did they do?”

Monty jumps in, “Bellamy, _they_ didn’t do anything, but the details are personal and I don’t think that we should be the ones to tell you. That’s up to Clarke and Raven. What I can say is that they are awesome, talented people and won’t be touble.” Monty pats his back and winks. “Plus they’re super-smart, hilarious, and have wide appeal _and_ their YouTube is growing really fast. It’s just good business.”

That headache is back. “So, I don’t get to know? How can I tell that they’re not just shit-stirrers who are going to fuck up my livelihood?”

“Okay, first of all,” he feels a jab at his side, “you know that lots of people have taken chances on your delinquent ass before.” He can’t help but think of Kate and that she would help these girls in a heartbeat. “Even when you’re ranting or being a total dick, Miller, Lincoln, Octavia, and I stand by you. We trust that you’re not going to bring any drama on purpose, and we’ve weathered tons of shitstorms together. You know how people can be on the internet, especially to women, and you’re not naive enough to think that I’d be asking you to do this if Clarke and Raven were jerks.”

 _True_. Properly shamed, Bellamy turns back to the screen. “Harper, I’ll do it. What can I do?”

Monty leaps up and hugs him. Harper is beaming, but it looks like a few tears are rolling down her cheeks. “Thank you, Bellamy. Honestly. You have no idea how grateful I am!”

He can’t help but smile with her. Reaching for the notepad they use for groceries, he asks, “So, should I just message them? Is there a time difference we need to worry about? What chat programs do they prefer?”

“Oh, um, I thought that you knew. They just moved nearby.”

“Where? To Lafayette?”

“No, to East Syracuse. They have an apartment. Actually,” she glances at Monty, “I’ve been told that your favorite diner is around there. Think you could meet them for a bite Saturday evening at 7?”

“Um, yeah.” A beat. “Yes, no problem. How will I know them?”

She actually laughs super-hard. He’s more than a little confused. “Brunette and blonde. Stupid gorgeous. Trust me, you’ll know.”

 

***

 

Clarke’s having trouble getting the Xbox to connect to the internet. It might have something to do with the conversation the just had with Harper.

Truthfully, they should have anticipated having to do a collaboration to “change the narrative”, as Harper put it. She's not wrong.

Harper has been their manager and paid chat moderator for two years. They knew her growing up in Portland, but it wasn’t until they hired her to help with YouTube that they really got to know her. She’s amazing and understands the complicated math and crap that goes into making your channel successful.

And that’s why Clarke is really irritated right now. She and Raven need this collaboration. Livestreaming is a good way to bring in extra income, and there are certain games that just translate better for a live audience. If they’re going to stay afloat, they need help, and according to Harper, on Twitch,  _Hel’s Bell_ is buoyant as fuck.

It’s just that doing something like this, aside from the obvious anxiety about having to leave the house and feel exposed, is that it just reminds her of what got her here, and everything that Raven has given up to stick by her.

Finally she enters the internet password correctly. “Got it!”

“Well, wasn’t that an endeavor.” Roan is busy installing the last replacement window lock, but apparently not too busy to run his mouth.

“Bite my ass.” They both laugh.

“Starry, you know very well that yours isn’t the one I want to sink my teeth into.”

“Ugh. Just ask her out, would you? I bet you a root beer float that she’ll say yes.”

“That’s a pretty meager wager.”

“Ummm, have you ever had a root beer float? They’re bliss incarnate.”

The last bolt tightened, he wipes his hands on his jeans and sighs. “The stream is about to start. Do you want some wine?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. Raven will be back in a few with takeout. Good call on the Vietnamese food, by the way.”

He goes into the kitchen then returns a couple minutes later, laden with three glasses, a bottle of plum wine, and a stuffed armored bear tucked under his arm.

Clarke helps by relieving him of the glasses, but nearly drops them when she sees his bear. “We’ve been here _one day_. You told me this morning that you were too busy to unpack your _asthma inhaler_ so I had to do it and shove it in your pocket as you were heading out the door, but you had time to dig through our boxes of collectibles to find Grrsdays?”

She has to admit that the fact he named his lucky bear _Grrsdays_ because the roleplaying stream is on Thursdays is really freaking adorable. He’s also very superstitious, so he hates watching the stream without it sitting on the couch’s arm. Raven has gone on many a rant about it, but those always seem to mutate into moony lists of Roan’s better qualities, and how she likes that he’s so much weirder than anyone would ever guess.

It’s 10 pm and the screen fills up with the smiling faces of the roleplayers. They’re all professional voice actors, which Clarke and Raven really admire, and they’re also friends in real life. There’s just an easy rapport, and each different episode is full of comedy and some seriously impressive emotional beats. The week Roan came to work for them, he got hooked on the series. Raven bought him the bear after the first time he helped her with one of Clarke’s panic attacks.

All of the actors are getting settled and joking around while they recap last week’s adventure. This seems as good a time as any to bring up what she’s been dying to ask him.

“Roan, seriously, what’s stopping you from asking out Raven?”

His sigh is mournful enough that she immediately regrets bugging him about it.

Without looking her way, he mumbles, “Aside from the fact that she’s my employer and we both thought _The Bodyguard_ was truly dull?”

“Sorry,” she whispers, and boops her forehead against his arm.

On screen, the performers are all seated. A guest star is sitting at the end of one of the tables, and she’s irritated at herself for not paying enough attention to catch his name. He has a warm smile and easy manner that’s oddly calming. And, yes, he's dreamy, but that's not the point. She just kind of likes everything about him.

Roan says something, but she doesn’t hear at first. “What?” turning to him, “I’m sorry. I missed that.”

“I’m too old for her.”

“What do you mean you’re too old for her?”

“Well, she’s 24.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“And I’m 35.”

“Still waiting for the punchline.”

“Clarke-”

She sits up straight and sets her glass on the coffee table. “No, Roan. Stop. That’s really silly.”

“I need you to understand. It’s about a balance of power in a relationship.”

A few seconds later, Raven opens the door, trailed by a pushcart full of takeout bags. “Hey, kids! How’s the stream so far?”

“Just started, they were a few minutes late. There’s a guest, though. Didn’t catch his name.”

“Awesome. I’m just going to grab a warm pair of socks. It’s colder than a witch’s left tit out there.”

After Raven’s bedroom door opens, Roan leans close enough that Clarke can hear him whisper. “I’m older. I was in the military for five years. And, truthfully, most of what it comes down to is the sexual element. I couldn’t bear to take advantage of her youth and inexperience.”

“Hey! I fucked that guy behind the Dinosaur BBQ.” Both Clarke and Roan turn to find her standing a few feet behind the sofa, holding her Deadpool socks and pointing at the TV.

At _him_.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Polaris is an actual YouTube Multi-Channel Network, which is what made me think of writing this.


End file.
